The dawn in Tokyo was just beginning to break.
Oga Norio had slept soundly the previous night.
News from Chicago confirmed that Ken Kutaragi's presentation had been a resounding success. The PlayStation's performance specifications had stunned the entire CES.
He could almost picture the comical expressions of shock and disbelief on the faces of American media and competitors alike.
Sony, the sleeping lion, had finally roared its first challenge in this new hunting ground.
After completing his morning routine and changing into a crisp, starched shirt, Oga was about to enjoy breakfast when the dedicated line in his study rang at an inopportune moment.
The shrill, urgent ringing seemed to demand immediate attention.
Frowning slightly, Oga walked over and answered the call.
"It's me."
On the other end of the line, there was an eerie silence, broken only by heavy, suppressed breathing.
After several agonizing seconds, Ken Kutaragi's dry, hoarse voice finally came through.
"President... we've been... played."
Oga Norio's hand gripping the receiver remained perfectly still.
"Explain yourself."
"Nintendo—they held a press conference this afternoon—" Ken Kutaragi's voice had lost all its engineer's pride, leaving only exhaustion and humiliation. "They announced the termination of all cooperation with us. Their new partner is—Philips."
Philips?
The name flashed through Oga Norio's mind—the Dutch giant known for light bulbs and razors, and co-owner of the CD patent.
"They also—" Kutaragi's voice trembled, "they publicly announced to the world's media that they're suing us—claiming ownership of the PlayStation trademark."
"Until the lawsuit is resolved, we can't use the name or sell anything under it."
Oga Norio remained silent.
He slowly turned to face the window, gazing at the dawning sky.
Tokyo's dawn was magnificent and serene.
But what he saw in his mind's eye was that stage in Chicago.
He imagined Kutaragi, brimming with confidence, announcing the specifications, basking in the audience's stunned reaction.
Then he saw Minoru Arakawa's smiling face, how effortlessly he had plunged a knife into Sony's heart.
The trademark.
They had struck at the very foundation.
A scorched-earth strategy.
Using Sony's money, Sony's technology, and Sony's ambition, they had crafted the world's greatest joke.
"Ha ha—"
Oga Norio let out a low, cold laugh that sent a shiver down Ken Kutaragi's spine on the other end of the line.
"President?"
"Well done, Yamauchi Hiroshi—well done, Minoru Arakawa—" Oga murmured to himself, not in praise, but savoring the humiliation that had sunk deep into his bones.
He finally understood: from the beginning, Sony had been the monkey being played.
They had smugly believed they had exploited loopholes in the contract, never imagining the other party would so decisively sever the agreement.
Nintendo had dug a massive pit, and Sony had gleefully sprinted into it, clutching the bomb they had built themselves.
"President, I—" Ken Kutaragi's voice trembled with tears.
"Shut up," Oga Norio's voice regained its usual calm, devoid of any warmth. "Now is not the time to assign blame. You and your team are to return to Tokyo immediately. Immediately."
"Yes, sir!"
"We'll discuss the aftermath when you get back."
After hanging up, Oga Norio remained motionless.
He stood there, watching the city outside his window awaken in the morning light.
A lawsuit? Even if they won, how long would it take? A year? Two years? Could the market afford to wait?
Strip away Nintendo's technology, rebrand, and start over? What, then, was the globally sensational launch event this morning? A suicidal publicity stunt?
Worse still, Sony's financial situation couldn't withstand such turmoil.
The company was burdened with astronomical debt from acquiring Columbia Pictures.
And the Hollywood filmmakers' performance this year had been far from impressive.
The PlayStation, meant to be the game-changer, the new profit driver, had now become a bleeding wound, a black hole.
Oga Norio walked to his desk, where a sleek Sony radio sat, its "SONY" logo gleaming in the morning light.
This was Sony's pride.
But now, in Chicago, that pride was being trampled into the mud.
He picked up another phone and dialed the head of the Legal Department.
The moment the call connected, all emotion vanished from his face, leaving only steely resolve.
"Get everyone up. We're having an emergency meeting at headquarters now."
"We're in trouble."
Across the Pacific, radio waves traveled far faster than newspaper ink.
The Chicago debacle had reached Japan by early morning the next day, Eastern Standard Time.
Konami Headquarters, President's Office.
Kazumasa Kozuki hung up the transatlantic call from the American branch, his face betraying no surprise, only a knowing "I knew it" expression.
He leisurely lit a cigarette, his shrewd features blurring in the swirling smoke.
"President," his secretary announced, knocking and entering with a still-warm faxed report in hand. "This is the emergency report from the US."
Kozuki didn't take it, merely gesturing toward the desk.
"Leave it there. I already know."
He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly as he watched the smoke swirl and dissipate in the air, much like Sony's grand but fleeting product launch.
Then he set the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, pressed the intercom button, and spoke in a low but unmistakably commanding tone:
"Have all development department heads in my office for a meeting within ten minutes."
Ten minutes later, Konami's core development executives stood before Kazumasa Kozuki's desk, their expressions varied but all betraying a sense of unease.
They had clearly all heard about the storm brewing across the Pacific, and their faces were etched with apprehension.
"You've all heard, haven't you?" Kozuki stubbed out his cigarette.
The executives nodded.
"Good. Then I won't waste time." He leaned forward slightly, clasped his hands on the desk, and his gaze swept over each person like a hawk's. "From today onward, the Super Famicom will be elevated to the same highest internal priority level as the Mega Drive."
At this declaration, the department head responsible for arcade ports couldn't help but protest: "President, but our main focus has always been on the Mega Drive and arcades. The Super Famicom's development infrastructure—"
"Then shift your focus!" Kozuki interrupted sharply. "Infrastructure is rigid; people are adaptable! Money is real! The year-end sales figures for the Super Famicom in Europe and North America were clearly stated in the reports you received—those weren't meant to be read for entertainment!"
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